


Tryst

by berlynn_wohl



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Anal Sex, Bathing/Washing, Established Relationship, M/M, Roleplay, Seduction, Sequel, Snake is a bottom but Iroquois Pliskin is a top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:53:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25796941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/berlynn_wohl/pseuds/berlynn_wohl
Summary: The sequel to "You Doing Anything After This?" Otacon answers a mysterious invitation to find himself once again in the arms of the sly and seductive Iroquois Pliskin.
Relationships: Otacon/Solid Snake
Comments: 9
Kudos: 85





	Tryst

**Author's Note:**

> This is the sequel to "You Doing Anything After This?" It would be helpful to have read that fic first! It is here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19819873
> 
> This fic was inspired by this art: https://twitter.com/_scatterpunk/status/1282658602830802946

Otacon's first conscious thought was a vague awareness of an aching back. He lingered in a half-awake haze, possessing not enough clarity of thought to sit up properly and relieve the pain, but enough to wonder whether the recent agony induced by sleeping on the floor of the van was a sign of the oncoming infirmity of age, or a sign that he needed to stop sleeping on the floor of the van before he inflicted upon _himself_ the infirmity of age.

The gray light outside gave him no clue as to what time it was. Considering the season and their location, it might be early morning, or late afternoon, or high noon in cloudy weather. There was no presence or warmth huddled against him, and so Otacon assumed Snake was sitting in the front seat. “What time is it,” he muttered – to no one, he realized when there was no response. He sat up, suddenly wide awake. “Snake?” A rush of adrenaline brought him to immediate alert wakefulness; something had to be wrong. Snake never left him alone with no warning.

Fumbling for his glasses, Otacon found instead, in the empty space that should have been occupied by Snake, a burner phone. It hadn't been used yet; last night it had been in a backpack under the driver's seat. Its red light flashed, indicating that there was an unread message on it. Rather then continue searching for his glasses, he held the phone close to his face and unlocked it to read the message:

**Stash the van for overnight and take a cab to 15308 Belleview West, #517 ~~~**

Three tildes at the end of the message was one of many little codes he and Snake employed. They meant that everything was fine, that no one was in any danger. If Snake were to have sent him such a message without those characters at the end, Otacon would take the message as a warning, that Snake had been kidnapped and compelled by his captors to lure Otacon into a trap. Otacon had suggested the three tildes specifically because they reminded him of a cute little snake, and so it had a levity to it. He sighed with relief to see those characters, but they left him very little closer to solving the mystery of why Snake had left him alone.

These instruction, about the cab, told him that wherever 15308 Belleview West was, they would not only not need the van or anything in it, but bringing the van to the location would be dangerous, or conspicuous. A plain white van with “Rick's Heating and Plumbing” on the side went unnoticed most places, but would be suspiciously incongruous in others. Otacon was going to have to find a place where the van could sit for 24 hours without being towed – not too difficult, but he'd have to get at least to the suburbs.

Snake had not specified a time in the instructions – and in fact would not have known what time Otacon would have woken up – which seemed odd, but it motivated Otacon to get up, guzzle a vile, warm energy drink, and get behind the wheel of the van. The sky had swiftly grown darker; it turned out to be five in the afternoon by the time he was on the road.

Though he was fairly confident he had nothing to worry about, Otacon used a Thomas Guide to find his destination address, rather than turn on the GPS navigation, which might be tracked at any time. He was surprised to find that the address was outside the city proper, near to the urban center of a much more affluent community across the river. That is, the type of place Snake and Otacon basically never had any business being. Was this a meeting with a foreign diplomat? A local tycoon with a conscience, sympathetic enough to Philanthropy's cause to fund it? He didn't dare hope. If it was such a thing, this person at least could have made their wealth and generosity known _before_ Otacon had to pay twenty bucks to get a cab to his destination from the narrow residential street where he'd parked the van.

Stepping out of the cab, Otacon found himself in front of the Sorrento, a stunning and painstakingly-preserved Art Deco hotel. Standing there in his hooded sweatshirt and jeans, with nothing in his backpack that was any spiffier, Otacon wondered if he would even be allowed inside. But Snake had taught him that getting into places was all about looking like you were supposed to be there. Otacon opened his backpack and took from it his brand-new gadget: an “iPhone,” Steve Jobs' latest brainwave and one that promised to make most of Apple's previous products obsolete. Otacon had not had a chance yet to really dig into it, to see what he could do to make it a secure and useful tool, but holding it in his hand and pretending to be engrossed in its screen instantly changed his aura from “unkempt weirdo” to “hip start-up whiz-kid,” and gave him the confidence to waltz through the gilded main doors and into the hotel's sleek yet sumptuous lobby.

Otacon's sneakers squeaked on the waxed floor as he made his way past the concierge desk, and his shoulders tightened with self-consciousness. While waiting for the elevator, he tried to regain some of the smug nonchalance he'd walked in with, but alas, he had used it all up in one go. Only when he'd boarded the elevator, alone, could his thoughts return to the main issue: he still had no idea why Snake had told him to come here. He stepped off the elevator at the fifth floor and went the wrong way down the corridor before he realized which direction 517 was.

His knuckles barely brushed the door when he tried to knock, he was so nervous. His biggest fear was that whoever opened the door would not be Snake, that it would turn out to be a trap after all. But for all that his mind had raced with a thousand conjectures since waking up an hour ago, not once had he anticipated seeing the man who appeared when the door was opened.

There was no mistaking his identity. The tactical vest worn over an olive-drab long-sleeved shirt, the matching fatigue trousers, and the fingerless gloves – it could only be one person: Iroquois Pliskin. Otacon laughed out of pure relief now that the mystery was over, his hand coming to rest over his heart, but he soon corrected himself, slipping swiftly if clumsily into the little game they had established some months ago. He stepped into the room, and as his host closed the door behind him, he summoned up all the indignant shock he could muster, and said, “Mister Pliskin, I'm flattered by all the trouble you went to, but I cant help but feel like I've been tricked! I was expecting to meet someone entirely different here.” He folded his arms across his chest. “Perhaps you've heard of him: my boyfriend, the legendary Solid Snake?”

Snake chuckled. The distinctive outfit and unkempt hair did not do as much to reinforce his Pliskin persona as the subtle differences in his laugh, his facial expressions. Pliskin was mischievous in ways Snake wasn't, smooth where Snake was charmingly awkward. Otacon wondered where he conjured it from. “I didn't mean to upset you,” Snake said. “But I knew I would have to employ a few tricks if I ever wanted to see you again.” He stepped close, lifting his hands to grip Otacon's biceps with affection, encouraging him to loosen his arms and drop his defenses. “Now that you're here, though, surely you can admit that you missed me, just a little?”

Otacon huffed and looked away. “You've got some nerve! I thought I made it very clear that what happened between us was a mistake. It could never happen again. I love my boyfriend, and I was lucky to have gotten away with straying from him once. I could never risk what he and I have for another fling, not ever again!”

Though Otacon worried that he might be laying it on a little thick right from the get-go, Snake's unctuous seduction was a ready match for his resistance. His hands slipped down Otacon's arms and underneath, around his ribcage and down to the small of his back, urging him closer. “Mm, tell me how you really feel, though,” he said, low and soft. “You have been thinking about me, haven't you?”

Otacon hesitated, wondering, for purposes of their little game, how much he should admit, and how quickly. The truth was, he thought about his night with Pliskin quite a bit; it had been so exciting to be seduced, to be teased and tempted...and to be _topped_. Snake's lack of enthusiasm for topping had vanished entirely that night, and Otacon treasured the memory of getting the fucking of his life. Just being flirted with was enough to drive him wild, let alone experiencing a night of being taken, utterly and passionately. His life with Snake left little time for romance, and whenever they did have the time, they lacked any semblance of seductive atmosphere, and he had accepted that, but he couldn't help daydreaming sometimes.

And so at last, he confessed: “If I said I didn't think about it, you'd know I was lying...but that doesn't mean you can lure me to a swank hotel room and have your way with me. I'm not that kind of guy.”

Snake uttered an amused little growl, then seemed to relent, loosening his hold on Otacon and taking a step back. “Maybe you're not. But are you the kind of guy who would waste an opportunity to enjoy the swank hotel room, at least?” He gestured broadly, and Otacon adjusted his glasses to survey the elegant room, exquisitely furnished and decorated but punctuated by a ridiculously huge bed, piled with pillows.

“You should see the bathroom,” Snake said, taking Otacon by the elbow and leading him there before he could think of how to object. “Look at that. Look at how deep that bathtub is. You might walk out on me out of spite, but would you walk away from a chance to get in _that_?”

Otacon looked at Snake with the appropriate amount of narrow-eyed suspicion, though he was thinking of what a soak in hot water could do for his still-aching back. “What's in it for _you_ , though, I wonder?”

Snake smiled another uncharacteristic, disingenuous smile. “The satisfaction of seeing you comfortable and happy, that's all.”

Otacon tilted his head and gazed wistfully at the tub. “It _would_ be a terrible waste, not to avail myself of such luxurious features.” He turned and poked a finger at Snake's chest. “Ooh, you are a sly one! You knew I'd find this hard to resist. But I'm on to you! I'll stay, but no monkey business!”

Snake put up his hands, making a show of his innocence. “No monkey business. Now, it'll take a while to fill a tub this size.” He placed a hand on the small of Otacon's back, taking every excuse to touch him intimately as he nudged him back out into the main room. “Why don't you let me do that for you, and in the meantime you can look over the room service menu and pick out something to eat.” He handed Otacon a thin, leather-bound menu on silky cardstock, then disappeared back into the bathroom alone.

Otacon sat on the bed, was distracted for a moment by how deeply he sank into the plush mattress, then focused on perusing the menu. Everything sounded amazing, so he narrowed it down based on what he could eat while in the tub. The fruit-and-cheese platter seemed reasonable; you wouldn't even need a fork. He picked up the phone and placed the order, then laid down and let himself be swallowed up a bit by the soft bed until Snake emerged to announce that the bath was ready.

To Otacon's delight, the bathtub was brimming not just with steaming-hot water but with a mountain bubbles on top. Comfortable as he was in Snake's presence, he did not hesitate to start undressing – until he remembered that they were still playing a game. He turned and scolded Snake, “No peeking!”

Snake raised his hands once more in acquiescence and said, “Alright, I'll just be out here. I'll bring you the food when it comes, though, okay?”

“That's fine.”

On his way out, Snake flicked the switch to turn off the overhead lights, leaving the room warmly illuminated by just an incandescent wall sconce. He left the door open an inch behind him.

Once he was alone, Otacon finished stripping and stepped into the tub. The water was perfectly piping hot. For years now, just a hot shower was a luxury, making this bath unimaginably indulgent. As Otacon sank into the water, he groaned loudly and unashamedly, knowing that Snake would hear, and glad of it. He didn't know what was going to happen next, but he was trying to keep up his role as a tempting, if resistant, prize to be won.

While he soaked in peaceful solitude, he tried not to let his mind wander to mundane thoughts that didn't matter right now, like where the money was coming from that was paying for this, or thinking up other ways that he could play the coquette with Snake, inventive ways to say “No, but _maybe_...” Instead, he focused on the soft crackling of the frothy bubbles, and the gentle sloshing of the water as he breathed and shifted; he was soon on the edge of dozing off. He became instantly alert again when he heard the door open out in the main room. But the room service had arrived, that was all. He listened to Snake accept it and close the door.

Snake brought the food in on a silver tray, now wearing only a fluffy white bathrobe, which Otacon remarked on with a raised eyebrow.

Snake reasoned, “Well, I couldn't answer the door in my fatigues, could I?”

Otacon conceded that this was sensible.

In addition to the meal Otacon had ordered, Snake had somehow managed to add a bottle of wine, and two glasses. He must have called again after Otacon had gotten in the bath. Wine was a cheap move on Snake's part; he knew that Otacon was a lightweight, and in fact tended to stay away from alcohol because of how quickly and easily he became giggly, and susceptible to randiness, under its influence.

But when Snake poured Otacon a generous glass, Otacon saw no reason not to drink it – it would provide a perfect excuse to have lost control and submitted to “Pliskin's” wicked seduction.

The plate of fruit and cheese was simple fare, but hearty and exquisitely flavorful: plump grapes, tart apple slices, enormous dates, and juicy berries, alongside perfect dainty cubes of gruyere, sharp cheddar, and gouda. Otacon was so used to the carb- and sodium-laden “flavors” of convenience store fare and fast food that he had nearly forgotten that this was what real food tasted like. He forced himself to slow down and enjoy each bite to the fullest, sipping his wine and being very vocal about his gustatory pleasure.

Snake sat on a low stool alongside the tub and shared the food, quieter but with rapt attention to Otacon. Halfway through the meal, Otacon paused, staring at the food, his hand hovering over a slice of apple, and said nothing. Snake noticed, and waited.

“This is very silly,” Otacon said at last.

“Is it?”

“This is like what a kid in a movie would do if he were left unsupervised with a credit card. Like, they would show him eating fancy food while taking a bubble bath because it's a PG movie and they can't show him spending all the money on hard drugs and prostitutes.”

Snake pondered this for a moment. “Are you sure they would show stuff like this because the hard drugs and prostitutes would be inappropriate? Or do you think that's what they would show him doing because it's the better choice and more fun? Kids are pretty smart.”

Otacon slowly began to nod. “You know, you're right. This is better. Thanks, I don't feel silly any more.”

When the last bite had been devoured, Snake set aside the plate and poured some more wine, saying casually, “I could wash your back for you, if you like.”

Otacon covered his face with his hand and giggled. “Oh, I shouldn't let you,” he teased.

“I didn't ask about 'should,'” Snake said with a wolfish grin. “I asked if you'd like me to do it.”

Otacon was feeling only the slightest bit tipsy, but added some languor to his speech, to make it seem like he was more deeply affected. He waved an admonishing finger. “Only if you can behave yourself. Remember, I have a boyfriend. Be respectful!"

Snake plucked a washcloth from the shelf. “Of course. My offer was purely in the interest of hygiene, nothing untoward.”

Otacon could barely contain his laughter. It was all so ridiculous; no one would actually have a conversation like this. But he was having fun.

After dunking the washcloth in the sudsy water, Snake turned a bar of creamy white soap in it, over and over, working up a thick lather. Otacon leaned forward, clutching his knees, and closed his eyes to savor the delicious feeling of being lovingly bathed. The hands of this seductive stranger felt soothingly familiar, and Otacon couldn't help but relax into his touch.

After Otacon was more than sufficiently clean, Snake discarded the washcloth and continued rubbing hard circles into his back and shoulders with his bare hands, slickly massaging him, making him grunt and groan as his knotted muscles were worked loose. When Otacon opened his eyes, he saw that the leaning over and repetitive motions had caused Snake's bathrobe to come half untied, falling open to expose his lean, muscled chest and half-erect cock.

“Oh.” Otacon feigned embarrassment and turned his head away. “Mister Pliskin, your robe is open.”

“That's inconvenient,” Snake muttered, clearly unperturbed. “Here, let's make this easier.” He stood up, slipped the robe from his shoulders, and stepped into the tub behind Otacon.

“Hey! You said no shenanigans!” Despite his protests, Otacon scooted forward a fraction to make room for him; the bathtub was big enough that they could have sat side by side, but Otacon liked this better anyway.

“I specifically said no _monkey business_ ,” Snake pointed out. “There was no mention of shenanigans. It's simply easier for me to reach all of you this way. That's all there is to it. Nothing dirty about this.” He picked up the soap again. “Quite the opposite, in fact.”

“Are you sure you can behave yourself? I really don't think my boyfriend–”

“Don't worry about it,” Snake insisted. “He'll never find out about this, so it's like it never happened, right?” He leaned forward and murmured in Otacon's ear. “Except for the memories, keeping you warm at night, hm?”

Otacon shivered. “I guess if this is as far as it goes, it's not really _so_ bad.” He relaxed into Snake's touch, letting himself be lathered all over. Snake even washed his hair, guiding him backwards and down to wet his scalp, and gently, methodically massaging the shampoo in. Otacon had no idea that having it done could feel so nice. He melted into Snake's arms, barely resistant by the time Snake's hands dipped lower to lather his cock.

Not that it was any use pretending he didn't like it, as by that time he was hard and beginning to ache, but nevertheless he mustered the slightest protest, saying, “Oh, don't touch me _there_.” Snake countered soothingly, “This is perfectly fine, I'm just washing you.” Otacon squirmed through a pronounced pulse of arousal, not sure himself if he was trying to put up a struggle or get more of what Snake was giving. Being a tease and not giving in when you really wanted it was _exhausting_ – how could anyone keep up an act like this for days or weeks?

Snake suggested, “Why don't you sit up now, and lean forward, and I'll wash the rest of you.” Otacon was in a fog of lust, and needed Snake's guidance to get on his knees and tilt forward onto the opposite rim of the tub. Once the water was done sloshing around, the cool air on his skin made him feel even more exposed and vulnerable, but Snake quickly cuddled up behind him with his warm, hard body, which was comforting and exciting all at once. When Snake's hands caressed his inner thighs, Otacon's knees got weak, and he shivered with the ticklishness of it. One palm snuck upward to give Otacon's balls a slippery squeeze; Snake massaged them until Otacon was moaning, then slipped two fingers in the cleft of his ass, stroking his hole.

“You shouldn't,” Otacon reminded Snake.

“It's okay, I won't go inside.” As if _that_ would make the difference between cheating and not cheating! But the façade was still exciting, so Otacon continued “reluctantly” letting himself be touched this way. Snake's other hand was giving his cock light, soapy strokes, making things too intense to be called “teasing” now. Behind him, Otacon could sense that Snake was shifting his position, but he did not properly perceive what was happening until he felt Snake's breath ghosting across the goose-pimpled flesh of his rump. It was the hot, wet mouth pressed unmistakably against his hole that caused him to finally gave up all pretense, and he cried out shamelessly, offering no further resistance. “Ooh, that's so _good_ ,” was all he could articulate, as he thrust forward into Snake's hand and backwards against his tongue.

Snake held Otacon steady and worked his tongue in time with his hand, until Otacon warned that he was close to coming. Snake retreated, gently caressing Otacon's hip, and nowhere else, until Otacon pleaded, “Take me to bed.”

Snake responded to this with an amused grunt of triumph, and thereafter with absolutely no sense of urgency. He helped Otacon rise and step out of the tub, then took plenty of time drying him with a huge fluffy towel. His only acknowledgment of Otacon's fervent arousal was one playful but brief kiss to the tip of his cock as he kneeled to dry his legs and feet, after which he behaved as if he had not done this at all. Otacon had to hold onto the counter to keep himself standing upright.

Snake brought Otacon out of the bathroom and sat him down on the bed, next to a stack of towels and a bottle of lube. Otacon reached out to pull Snake towards him, but Snake pulled away, holding up one finger. “There's just one more thing,” he said. “I want everything to be perfect.” He dashed over to the fireplace, where an artificial firelog sat in the hearth. Snake lit it, and then flicked off the electric lights.

Otacon had never thought of his life with Snake as being like a movie – there were too many long stretches of drudgery and boredom, and no glamour to make up for all the being shot at. But tonight, for once, he felt a little like he was in a James Bond film: after a rough mission, a posh hotel and a night of love awaited him. Spy movies had never been his thing, he'd always thought they were too over-the-top corny to be enjoyable, but now that he was living in one a little bit, he thought he could get used to it.

And so, as he watched the fire begin to blaze, Otacon conceded: yes, now everything was perfect.

Having established a romantic atmosphere that was above reproach, Snake gave no warning of what he was about to do next, as he made his way back to where Otacon was seated at the edge of the bed – he just slipped one arm under Otacon's legs, wrapped the other around his shoulders, lifted him effortlessly, and tossed him into the middle of the expansive mattress. Otacon squeaked with surprise and delight, and then again with even more enthusiasm when a grinning Snake crawled across what seemed like acres of bed to climb right on top of him. He trapped Otacon with his arms and legs, buried his nose in Otacon's neck, and growled like an animal.

This was wonderful, though not unusual or a surprise; Snake could be playfully aggressive when he was in the right mood. What Otacon was vibrating with excitement about at this point was what had made his previous tryst with Pliskin so special – he just knew was about to get _plowed_. All their usual kissing and rolling around had a new _frisson_ of excitement tonight, because of his anticipation. Snake was being a good sport about pretending to be Pliskin, pretending to be an enthusiastic top, so Otacon was going to make sure he showed his appreciation by enjoying it to the fullest, without inhibition.

“Turn over,” Snake said softly, and Otacon did not hesitate, rolling himself onto his belly within the tight confines of Snake's limbs.

Snake grunted his approval at the sight before him, grabbing two handfuls of Otacon's behind, squeezing it. Then, inexplicably, he moved down to massage Otacon's thighs instead, and then, maddeningly, his calves, then back up to his shoulders. With a whine, Otacon raised his rump, making it clear to Snake where he craved attention the most. Who was being a tease now?

When Snake finally reached over to grab the lube, Otacon's heart skipped a beat – not that what Snake was doing was shocking, Otacon just had a Pavlovian response to the distinctive click of the cap being popped. When he felt Snake's slick fingers touching him at last, he sobbed “Yes, _yes_ ,” spreading his legs to welcome the intrusion. Snake penetrated him with skill and finesse, possessing as he did a profound knowledge of what felt best when one had someone's fingers inside oneself.

Once the initial thrill was past, however, Otacon became impatient again immediately. “Hurry,” he urged.

Snake's deft, rhythmic preparation continued uninterrupted. “It's up to you to be ready.”

“ _I'm ready_.” Otacon tried to convey annoyance somehow, but in his position all he could do was wiggle.

With just a touch of irreverent humor, Snake said, “Hm, I'm not sure you are.” His fingertips against Otacon's prostate made it difficult to counter this assertion coherently.

When Snake had decided that Otacon had had enough torment, he gently withdrew his fingers. Otacon tensed up, anticipating the weight of Snake on top of him, his body heat, his smell. Instead, Snake grasped him around the waist and urged him to get up on his knees.

“How about you sit in my lap,” Snake said, sitting on his heels and nudging Otacon into position atop his thighs. This was unexpected but very exciting; they had never done it like this before, even with their roles reversed.

Otacon looked behind him as he rose, thrilled to see how Snake was so readily offering his prick, holding it straight up for him to mount, rock-hard and glistening with lube. All the teasing was over now, there was nothing left but to revel in the animal joy of it, all of the tension released at last, a prolonged rush of unbridled ecstasy.

As Otacon positioned himself, he was suddenly uncertain if he would enjoy doing it this way as much as he enjoyed it when Snake was on top of him, facing him; he found it a bit disappointing to be just looking at a wall as he smoothly accepted Snake's longed-for offering. But as soon as he'd seated himself, he settled right into Snake's waiting arms, and it became clear that this new position was just as unbelievably intimate as missionary, perhaps more so. The whole length of his body was pressed against Snake's, and with both hands free, Snake could play with every inch of him while he rocked back and forth. Snake's splayed fingers swept over his ribs and down his belly as he arched with pleasure, and warm breath on his neck gave him intense shivers and tingles.

But most all, Snake's cock inside him felt amazing. It was the only sensation in the world that surpassed the feeling of Snake's snug heat around his own prick – which right now just twitched and bobbed, unattended, until Snake took hold of it for him, as he was too distracted to handle it himself. Otacon had always thought it a shame that Snake didn't really enjoy topping, because he was so good at it. He was considerate, his cock was the perfect size, and he knew just how to move his hips – not to mention he had superhuman stamina, thinking nothing of pumping relentlessly for as long as was asked of him. Though Otacon was not sure whether what he reveled in was a purely physical ecstasy or more of an emotional one, he felt either could be readily described as the joy of being so utterly _open_ , to have Snake so impossibly close to him, inside and out. The desire to have even more of this feeling drove him on now, kept him bouncing up and down without pause long after he would otherwise have considered himself exhausted.

Otacon listened to the sound of their flesh slapping, such an embarrassing noise whenever he recalled it afterwards, but for now only serving to drive him further into a frenzy. It was the vigor instilled by transgression in this little scenario they'd created, but made even more enjoyable by the comfort and safety that only a long-established intimacy could provide. He cried out as his climax neared, and to his delight, Snake began to pump him all the harder as the tremendous, euphoric convulsions wracked his body. His final burst of energetic squirming proved too much for Snake, who suddenly gripped him in a pleasantly too-tight way, pushing deep and grinding as he spilled.

The denouement was prolonged, with moans of relief and a few more little shudders that seemed to last for several minutes. Only in the ensuing breathless stillness did Otacon notice how his thigh muscles burned from the strain of overuse. Snake maintained a firm hold on him as he began to collapse onto the bed. What happened next was a blur, but Otacon was aware that he was being handled gently, receiving yet more of Snake's generous attention, though now it was of a more delicate sort. He was still being asked to do nothing but receive, as Snake brought a washcloth and gave his sweaty, spent body a once-over to tidy him up, then got him under the soft sheets, and spooned him from behind. Otacon resisted this last effort, only because he wished instead to turn over and gaze at Snake, relaxed now but still magnificent, flushed and gorgeous and clearly satisfied with a job well done.

He couldn't think of anything to say to “Pliskin,” so he stayed quiet, just touching Snake's body, playing lazily with his chest hair, unable to suppress an occasional hum of contentment. The crackling of the fire seemed a hundred miles away, and yet he felt wrapped in the coziness of it.

Snake closed his eyes, seemingly quite ready to doze off, but five, then ten minutes went by and Otacon did not fall asleep – and he knew that Snake could sense that. Finally, Snake opened his eyes again and asked, “Something on your mind?” His sly tone told Otacon that he had not given up the Pliskin act yet.

Otacon smiled as his eyes drifted shut. “I don't mean to ruin the mood, Mr. Pliskin,” he sighed, “but even after all that, all I can think about right now is my boyfriend, and how much I love him.”


End file.
